Lachrymose
by Hoarfrost Lachrymose
Summary: Her voice is rough and uncontrolled and there's a terror in her voice, like just saying his name will bring him here. After so long listening to Clary, with her sweet voice and fiery temper- this is like seeing a ghost of the girl Jace loves.
1. IRIS

**IRIS**

In which Sebastian takes what is his.

* * *

Jace should've seen it coming, the consequences of his words and his drive to protect her. He'd driven her away, as far as he could and damn it all to hell if it hadn't destroyed everything he was- everything but the rage towards his father and his love for her.

But Jace should have seen it coming, those dark green eyes smouldering as they looked at her and the playful twist of his mouth that never reached his eyes. How that gaze lingered a little too long, his hand resting just a little more than acceptable.

He should have seen those little things, as she flinched at noises and ducked harshly from touch. Arms wound tight around her middle like she could hold everything in and just pretend it was okay. Pretend so no one else would get hurt. Hidden beneath long sleeves, dark prints and deep bruises that bloomed like dying flowers across her skin.

It was only after Sebastian fled, like a coward in the night of Idris, that she broke. He'd found her, after hours of searching, tucked in the highest corner of the house's attic. Curled in a corner, face in her hands and nearly silent, heaving sobs that broke the silence only as gasps of air.

He doesn't understand at first. He thinks she's hurt- but she doesn't meet his questions, won't even meet his eyes or look him in the face. By now, golden eyes are narrowed sharply- Jace may be self-centred but unobservant was not a vice others applied to him. He'd waited, patiently, soft words urging her to look at him but it's a long uphill struggled. So he takes her face in his hand and turns her towards him. And it's like his chest has emptied and been replaced with icy shock, drained into the earth and Jace will never forget this.

The sight of his sister, the woman he loves with a passion hotter than the sun, viridian eyes dead and broken and so empty. A dark shadow covers her cheek- the imprint of fingers, gripped with deadly strength and a shudder passes through him. There must be something in his face, a rage and knowledge, for her breath shudders and she leans her head back, baring her neck and torso, the white tank-top concealing none of what lies beneath.

Dark bruises litter the expanse of her neck and everything blurs in front of him. He reaches towards his face and finds it wet, and wonders when he started weeping. Dark hand prints indent her arms and shoulders, shadow and ink against parchment. And he's trembling, because he can see the shadowy darkness through her shirt and her skin is more purple and black than it is pale. And she looks at him through dead eyes but somewhere in those depths- there's fear and terror, beyond compare and there is so little he can do.

And he tries, oh he tries. He reaches out a hand and tries to touch her shoulder- but its a mistake.

A noise like a wounded creature echoes from her chest, a whimper and then a scream that shatters the silence and he knows Alec and Isabelle will be here in moments. But he hates himself- because she's afraid of him and he's not sure he can ever fix this.

He backs away, down the ladder where he sees the Lightwood's dash around the corner and sigh when they see him. Isabelle begins to ask him what made that noise but there's something that stops her, something in the set of his face. He's cold all over but he knows he must look something terrible.

"Jace! What's wrong? Where's Clary?" Isabelle's dark brown eyes are searching his tear-red face, searching for answers he doesn't think he has. He chokes at her name, a million images tearing through his mind and screaming at him, just like the one whom he had promised to protect had screamed as he tried to fix her.

Alec goes to climb the ladder and Jace doesn't know how he moves that fast, to intercept him and grabs his arms tightly. With a look of surprise at the strength of the grip, Alec blinks in confusion.

"Why are you stopping me?"

Jace grinds out the words, pulling on some deep section of courage and rage within him. "I… I don't think my- Clary…" He sucks in a deep breath and struggles on with a rough voice. "I don't think it's a good idea for a guy to go up there- she's…"

Behind him, Isabelle's breath is a sharp gasp and her eyes are wide with understanding, tears forming at the edge of her eyes. Jace doesn't even know why he says it but his tone is a plea for help.

"Iz- help her."

His voice cracks like eroding stone as soon as he speaks and she's up the ladder in moments. His task for now done, Jace sags against the wall in a bone-deep weariness. Alec hasn't realised it yet. Hasn't realised what has changed but he soon will.

He doesn't think he has the energy to move but when that same terrified scream rings out, Jace is up the ladder as fast as he can move. Isabelle is leaning against the wall, shock in her face and dark marks down her face. He feels Alec behind him, sucking in a breath of grief at the girl crouched in the corner. Isabelle nudges her brother down the ladder, sending one last look of concern towards Jace.

"When my mother arrives, I'll send her up." Then the trapdoor is shut, Isabelle's pale face left in his eyes like a bright light afterimage. He moves then, kneeling beside Clary and his eyes sting and burn as she stares at him like an enemy.

"Clary," His voice is pleading, breaking and she still stares at him with those terrified eyes. She reminds him of a cornered animal, terrified and shaking and wild to the core. He reaches out slowly, showing his empty hand and with infinitesimal slowness, rests his hand on her jaw, his palm cupping her face and he expects her to scream, to cry out but instead her eyes slowly blink, clearing just enough for him to see Clary beneath the terror.

And then she's in his arms, shaking and crying and whimpering in pain as she jostles her body and latches onto the only safe thing she has left, the one who has hurt her before but she still trusts him and his mind is moving a thousand miles an hour. None of his Shadowhunter training covered this, nothing he has learned has prepared him to deal with this situation.

So he follows his instincts and gathers her in his arms, leaning back against the wall and curls protectively around her. He wants to never let her out of his sight, to protect her from anything and everything this world has to offer as danger.

She's shivering- he can't feel it against his chest and around his waist as she shakes like a leaf from cold and terror and pain. And he doesn't have a stele- it's downstairs and he curses himself for it. But she's shivering because she's half clothed and her legs are bare and there are-

There are bruises on her hips, dark and inky against pale skin and the finger marks there incite a rage within him, feeding the fire burning in his empty chest. He counts slowly, deepening his breathing and just guards her from the world.

He can see the darkness of night beginning to encroach on the evening sky before he hears the sound of the trapdoor dropping and the soft, almost silent pad of Shadowhunter feet on the floor. The sound draws a cry from the redhead in his arms, a sound of terror and pain and he holds her close, shushing her with words of quiet, gentle nonsense as she curls stiff like marble against his chest.

Maryse Lightwood crouches a few feet away, blue eyes filled with a strange feeling- a protectiveness and grief that Jace was sure was present in his own gaze as he met the eyes of his adoptive mother.

"Jace," Her voice is soft- contained and even, measured sedately and Jace realises what she is doing, lulling Clary into calm and acceptance. "Clary, can you hear me?" She flinches against his chest, eyes staring up into his with a helplessness he cannot deny.

"She can hear you Maryse, don't doubt that." He meets the older woman's gaze again and eyes her clothing, seeing her shadowhunter equipment and holds out a hand. "I need to heal her- may you lend me your stele?" She hands it over with little hesitation, watching as her adoptive son does what he can to help his sister.

But the iratze don't work. They burn and then fade, again and again, as Jace tries everything he can. But the wounds must be demonic in nature, dark and not able to be healed by Shadowhunter means. He feels tears prick his eyes and blinks them away. Now is not the time for weakness.

"Maryse, take this." He tosses the stele back to the elegant woman and sighs deeply. "Tell Alec and Isabelle I'm taking her downstairs and to my room. I don't want to terrify her more than she is and she won't handle that many people. A-and I''m going to need a first aid kit… Can you handle that…Please?"

Maryse seems taken aback at the request-no, the _plea_ and nods sharply, rising with Nephilim fluidity and she could be heard from here, herding her children downstairs to the lowest level with the iron strength of a warrior. Jace would need to thank her, at some point- but right now he had other issues.

He straightened slowly, keeping her arms as level as possible but the small form in his arms twitched and whimpered in pain despite his care. The ladder was the trickiest bit but with slow movements, he was able to manoeuvre her down with as little pain as possible- for either of them.

Then it was just a walk to his room on the second floor, where he could see Alec and Isabelle watching down the corridor, eyes dark and faces pale. With a pained smile (or was that a grimace), he bumped the door to his room open and shut it carefully behind him, before carefully laying Clary on the bed. But her grip was strong and he had to settle her again, as her broken emerald eyes stared up at him.

There was a knock at the door then, and Clary had tucked herself against the bed post as he went to open the door. Alec stood there awkwardly, clutching a first aid kit he'd dragged out from beneath the stairs and he seemed… put off-balance by his stony exterior, cold and hard cut, like granite beneath his skin. He handed the first aid kit to Jace and was gone, striding down the hall as quickly as he could. But he stopped at the end of the corridor, with one last message.

"Magnus will be here soon, perhaps ten minutes. He says he's going to see what he can do."

Jace shut the door and pondered the issue, before a bigger issue made itself known. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he cupped Clary's face with his hand and smiled softly, brokenly, as she stared at him. She hasn't spoken yet- but he hasn't asked anything yet.

"Clary," He starts and she seems to know what is coming next. His voice is dark and heavy and sad, heavy with the weight of what he has to ask. "Who did this to you?"

She's trembling like a leaf and her eyes widen, as if she's seen a ghost and then she's back to the whimpering mess she was just hours ago. He holds her close and calms her, wiping her tears and as he sits up, he hears one word fall out of her mouth.

A name.

"Sebastian." Her voice is rough and uncontrolled and there's a terror in her voice, like just saying his name will bring him here. After so long listening to Clary, with her sweet voice and fiery temper- this is like seeing a ghost of the girl he loves. He closes his eyes and doesn't trust himself to say anything complex.

"I see." That's all he says but inside his mind, there's a sand-haired figure burning forever in hell.

And it brings a satisfaction beyond anything else.


	2. Heartbeat

Jace is still half-bent over Clary, back twitching in discomfort from the position, when Magnus Bane arrives on his doorstep, quite literally. And in that moment, the immortal nineteen year old is more like a saviour than anyone else, as his eyes stare at them with a heavy grief. Jace hadn't realised it but tears were still tracking slowly down his face as he met Magnus's gaze, surprised when it was the warlock who looked away.

"Clary," She turns to look at him with wide eyes, almost unseeing- but she can see him there, his gaze gentle and caring. "I'm going to see if I can heal you, okay? It's going to sting a fair bit but I'll do what I can. If-" He broke off briefly, considering his words carefully. "If I can't heal you, we're going to have to let you heal normally. Which means stitches and bandages a-and… and-"

Jace cut him off there, feeling Clary shake against him with renewed energy and a rising noise in her throat like a scream but muted and terrified. "It's okay, shhh…" It took some time for her to calm, eyes still darting around quickly but her shivering, for the most part, stopped.

It takes half an hour for Magnus Bane to realise that nothing he is doing can heal her. His magic moves like a wave, over and over but it does nothing, just sends shivers of cold throughout her bones and drains his energy like water through a sieve. At last, he stops and lowers his hands, shaking his head wearily. "There's nothing I can do. It should work! Those spells should heal every illness and every wound. I-i… I don't know why they aren't working."

And it's creeping up on Jace now, the true reality of what he has to do now and how horrible he has failed. He'd promised her, vowed to keep her safe and now she lies in his arms with a body broken and a spirit shattered.

All because he'd driven her away. To keep her safe but he'd driven her straight into the arms of the devil himself. And she'd been through hell and it was all his fault. With a grim set to his mouth, he detached Clary's hands from his shirt and she lay still on the bed, eyes watching them both with an unreadable look.

And Jace grabs the first aid, laying it out on the bed and grabbing what he needs, as she watches with cautious wariness. But she looks so beautiful, even now. An angel, fallen and broken but still so beautiful. To hell if she's his sister- he wants to kiss her lips and whisper vows of love in her ear-

But she's bruised and broken and she will never shake this fear. How can he think like this right now, as he is about to heal what he can of what is left behind?

Magnus shifts behind him, before sitting next to Clary at the head of the bed and she flinches before settling down, arms wrapped around her stomach as Magnus runs a hand through her hair. He begins to clean the dirt from her face and neck, his expression soft but a fury runs behind his eyes, cold and calculating.

Jace starts on the smallest of wounds, the little abrasions and cuts that require little attention beside some antiseptic and coverings. She's quiet, watching him with dark green eyes from beneath her lashes and he sees her eyes following his hands, gently cleaning wounds and as he encountered a larger wound, deep and caked with blood, her eyes widened as he thread a suture needle. With a bottle of anaesthetic, he cleans out the wound with a deceptive calmness and gentleness. She can't feel the pain as he begins to stitch but the sensation is still there, a pulling and a tugging motion that sends little shivers throughout her body.

It takes almost half an hour for her major wounds to be stitched up and cleaned, expertly stitched and tended to with a careful eye. Magnus has done the same on her arms and torso, as Jace breathes deeply and prepares himself for the next thing.

"Clary, we need to fix everything." She flinches when he says this, arms curling around her stomach in a twisted embrace and she shakes her head emphatically. There's terror in her eyes, something deep and twisted. "Please, Clary. I-" His voice broke and shook as he spoke. "I have to fix you. Please let me _fix_ you."

Her eyes are wide, unblinking but her posture softens, hands falling to the mattress and Magnus excuses himself, leaving Jace to tend to his sister. The word is still bitter to his heart and it hurts. But he shoves that pain aside in favour of tending to the girl before him.

He steels himself, gathering his rage and concentrating it as much as he can into a courage he knows will snap after this.

There's blood caked on her inner thighs, dark and dry in the light but there is so much blood. Tears prick his eyes, a sharp burning pain but he blinks them back, as he dips a cloth in water and ignores the way she flinches as he wipes the blood away. He concentrates on his task- his eyes never wander and his hands are steady. He has to be strong for her.

There's blood everywhere, caked at her centre and he waits for Clary to calm down, knowing this is going to need patience and steady hands. He begins to talk as moves, describing what he's doing as he does it and why he's doing it. And she calms as he does it, muscles tense but not resisting. He cleans everywhere he can, hushing her softly as she cries out in panic at sensations and then continues. He rubs antiseptic and painkillers into every wound, inside even- and isn't that the worst thing, as he holds her and he has to be cruel to be kind. She cries and whimpers and the noises are like daggers in his heart. When he's done, he's a mess and she's a nest of exhaustion. He pulls the covers over her as she sleeps, twisting and turning restlessly.

And Jace walks out, hands red with blood that is not his and he doesn't notice, his eyes glazed and he makes his way to the kitchen. He can hear soft voices talking from there and he finds all three Lightwoods in the kitchen, though their conversation drops as he walks in. They are staring at him and it's only now that the blood on his hands becomes apparent. He's washing them feverishly seconds later, scrubbing and clawing at his skin in an attempt to remove the stain. But it's still there and he slides to ground with empty eyes, head cradled in his hands.

Her blood is on his hands and he can never wash them clean.

Alec is beside him and he doesn't realise he's weeping until the red shirt turns the colour of blood beneath his tears and he can't stop. He's finally gone into shock, shaking and he sits as his family comforts him but to no avail.

Simon knows something is wrong the moment he steps foot in the house, too silent and the coppery, heady scent of blood is heavy in the air. He find the Lightwoods in the kitchen, crouched next to Jace, who has his head in his hands and when his eyes meet his, there's an unparalleled grief there, something deep and it shakes Simon to the core.

There's blood on his hands, just hints of it and the sink is filled with pink stained water. He sniffs carefully and his spine straightens as the scent registers with him. The blood is Clary's. All of it is Clary's and he moves inhumanly fast up the stairs, ignoring Isabelle's cry for him to wait. He opens Jace's door, where the scent of blood and Clary is strongest, and his knees grow weak.

She lay curled in the bed, arms wrapped around her stomach and the darkness of bruises against her pale skin is almost more than he can take. The scent of blood is heavy in the room and he can smell so many things that are wrong. The scent of blood and sex and semen and… Sebastian. Sebastian's scent is all over her, despite the dirt being washing from her skin.

There's a cold anger inside his heart, not beating but not dead either. It stirs to life with a rush of rage and he sense someone coming up behind him, the scent of blood heavy on them and he doesn't turn to Jace. His gaze is set of the frail-looking in the bed, her dreams heavy and dark.

"When did this happen?"

Jace isn't sure he's ever heard Simon this cold, so righteously furious. It matches his own fury and he knows well the pain Simon feels at this moment. He's never gotten along with the vampire but this is different. He feels this way about Clary- Jace will partner with anyone who can care for Clary as much as he does.

"I'm not sure- I wasn't here. Sometime during the battle, I think. Sebastian may be wanted by the Clave for war crimes- but his head is mine now."

Simon turns to him then, eyes cold and darker than Jace has ever seen them. And then he smiles, a cold vicious thing with teeth that are too sharp.

"He will suffer."

And the former mundane brushed past him, silent steps down the stairs, the soft noise of the vampire slipping out the door and into the night.

And Jace settled into the chair beside his bed and watched as she slept, eyes moving beneath her lids and the softness of sleep lending her more beauty than anyone should possess.


	3. You're standing in the shadows

_Clary is lost in a world of shadows, each figure she runs to dissolves into smoke. It's infinity here, in this grayscale landscape of shadows and darkness. This is all her world has been reduced to._

 _And there's a whisper, a susurration of sound in this landscape and she cannot escape it._

 _"What's wrong, little sis? You look upset."_

 _The voice sing-songs in that lilt that drives terror down her spine and she crouches against the ground as a bitter laugh echoed around her, as memories rise unbidden and wanted-_

 _She doesn't even hear him, as he clamps a hand across her mouth from behind and within second, her wrists are tied behind her, preventing any plans she had hastily formed inside her mind._

 _His voice sounds next to her ear, low and husky and gravelly with a sour undercurrent, something hot and heavy._

 _"Aren't you just a treat?"_

 _And then his hands are pulling, pinching and roaming and digging-_

 _She yanks herself out of the memory, gasping as she fought to regain control of herself and her mind. That dark chuckle rings around again and she wants to kill him, scream and cry out until she can no longer speak._

 _"What do you want?! You took everything already! What do you want me for?"_

 _There's no reply but she's hurled forward into a mess of demons and monsters, with a sand-haired man chasing her. He catches her and hurts her, then releases her once again. Over and over, she runs and runs._

 _Because deep in the darkness is a face she recognises, a tall figure she knows in all her lives- with a proud smirk and haughty cheekbones and glorious eyes that fix on her with that same look they always do- or did._

 _That wide eyed wonder, shock and love and care and lust. But that's not how he looks at her now. There's still love and lust and care but there is shock and horror and terror and self-hatred and self-disgust in his gaze in life, dark and heavy like the secrets that dragged their love to the ocean's floor._

 _But his eyes are the only light in the darkness, as she struggles through a seemingly never ending tide of death and pain._

 _And it's worth it, once she gets there. He's just like he is in life, warm and solid and trustworthy and-_

 _There's a sharp pain in her chest, as a red curtain spreads down her chest and she looks down to find a silver bound dagger buried in her chest. She questions him with her eyes but all she sees is the curving of pale lips in a mockery of his smirk. And then, all that fills her view are the eyes of a thousand demons._

She awakes in a scream, struggling to throw off the covers that bind her and she cannot keep still, struggling and fighting. The demons-

There are no demons, no dagger buried in her chest and the scream cuts off abruptly, the silence ringing. But there's a hand on her shoulder and she throws it off, backing up against the headboard and all she sees are blonde strands-

But they're too dark, too golden and a lion-gold gaze swims into view, wide eyes almost begging her to respond. His lips are moving and she can't hear him over the ringing in her ears. But it fades and she can hear the terror and the worry in his voice.

"-lary! Clary, answer me! Please…God, answer me!" Clary blinked and opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was like the sahara and she felt as if sandpaper had been rubbed down her throat. She coughed and choked as she tried to speak, throat sore from lack of water and her screams during her rest.

His face seemed struck by a realisation and he passed her a glass of water, watching as she gulped down a mouthful and sigh in relief as the beverage quenched the desert in her throat. "I-I'm okay.. I'm okay."

Maybe if she repeated it enough she'd believe it but he didn't seem to buy it completely- but he let it go, leaning forward to adjust her pillows but stopping as she flinched involuntarily, the echoes of her dream drifting back to her. He leans forward again and pulls the pillows against the head board, allowing her to sit back without damaging the wounds on her back. They were deep, lacerations in a form she'd only ever seen once- Sebastian's back. Long, curling and raised whip weals, that would rise pale above her skin.

'A taste of Father's discipline.'

That's what he'd called it. Personally, she thought it was just his sick nature but at least she'd rival Jace for scars now.

Jace was eyeing her with concern and she realised she'd said that last part out loud and there was a soft tenderness that was so rare in his eyes, and a bitter regret as black as the night.

His fingers trailed along a healing scar, across the silvery remains of a Mark and it was with great sadness in his voice that he spoke. "I never meant for you to have any scars. I guess I failed in that one as well." Clary said nothing in response, for what could she say?

"You didn't fail. This isn't your fault."

It's mine.

Jace merely sighed and brushed back her hair from her face, dismissing her attempt to dissuade him and he knows it useless. He loves her but she can never know that. They could never keep it hidden- never run far enough for the the stigma to leave them. And nowhere was far enough from the Clave.

Besides- this was all his fault. How could she love him, who had caused all this? No, Jace would loved her in silence- and hopefully she would be happy.

While he's caught up in thought, Clary swings her legs off the bed and as she gingerly raised herself up, hissed in pain. Jace sprang forward, holding her balance carefully and assisting her as she tried to stand. But she let out a low cry of pain, a deep ache inside her that burned and tore.

The pain grew and she found herself blanking out just for a moment, then blinking out dark spots and there was coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Jace was poised beside her, hands underneath her back to stop her falling on the still healing wounds.

"No walking then." Jace's voice was dry and sarcastic- and she hadn't realised how much she'd missed it, the way he spoke and she nodded her head emphatically.

"Definitely not walking." She smiled nervously, watching his reaction and when it was his normal 'one eyebrow' up smirk, there was a relief that spread throughout her. Then her stomach gurgled and she felt a slight shadow rising on her cheeks.

"Uh…Don't suppose you could carry me down to the kitchen. I'm starved."

Jace looked down at her with an incredulous expression and heaved a long-suffering sigh, before gently lifting the redhead girl into his arms. She let out a soft noise of pain and he froze, keeping still as she settled down as comfortable as possible and then heading down the hall and down the last flight of stairs. Alec and Isabelle, as well as Maryse, were all in the kitchen and all motion froze as Jace entered, all eyes on the pale young girl who had tucked her head away from them.

Then Maryse turned back to the pan on the stove, the smell of bacon and eggs rising in the kitchen as they cooked. Jace set her down on a chair, settling her carefully and gasping as he saw the tinges of blood on the back of her t-shirt, evidently the sign of the stitches on her back tearing.

Jace sighed, his eyes scanning the kitchen for a paper towel, which he quickly wet and held against her back, eliciting a hiss of pain from Clary but nothing more. She was quickly become a Shadowhunter in her own right and it struck a sad note inside him. Part of him had cherished that innocence but it was gone. Everything Clary had been was gone now and she would have to build up from scratch once again.

Alec had come around the back, trying to see what had happened and from across the table, Isabelle could see his face lose colour as though he were bleeding out.

"He… whipped you!" There was a tone of rage in his voice but Jace whirled around, a hand clapped across his mouth but it was too late. He could see Clary's shoulders shaking, her body rocking slightly and a noise like a terrified animal echoing in her chest. Alec's face was crestfallen, guilty but Jace didn't have time to console him. Her eyes were blank, wide and terrified when he faced her, she didn't see him at all. But her eyes were seeing something, because her body jerked forward and a keening noise echoed from her, a choked noise full of anguish.

Jace swept her into his arms and made his way into the adjacent sitting room, indicating for Maryse to deal with her children. Clary was shuddering in his arms, tossing and a scream rose from her throat as if she'd been branded by an iron. He wasn't sure what to do- wasn't sure what to say.

"Clary." He just called her name, softly and held her face so it was facing his, but her eyes were unfocused. "Dammit Clary! Please don't scare me like this…" She was curling against him now, the exact opposite of her prior behaviour and her head lolled against his chest, her skin pale and cold against his.

"She's having flashbacks."

Jace's head swivelled around, to where Maryse leant against the door with cautious eyes. They hadn't truly made up- not after the fiasco with the Inquisitor. But her eyes were settled on Clary, her flame hair that lay flat against his chest. "Flashbacks?" He enquired, his tone curious but flat.

Maryse crossed her arms, shifting her weight a little and nodding. "After you were in your first real fight, you dreamt of it for nights on end. Nightmares and even waking frights, because you'd been through trauma. It was like this, in a way. We'd hold you, rock you until you could sleep or eat. It's the same for her, on a much greater magnitude obviously. It's going to take her a very long time to recover and Jace."

His eyes had focused on Clary again but they met Maryse's gaze as she said his name. "She may not recover. This takes lives, Jace. Drives victims insane with pain and grief, until there is nothing but death awaiting them. You need to be careful- for both your sakes."

She leaves then, two plates of food on the small table nearby and retreats to the kitchen, where the soft hum of voices begins again, albeit interspersed with the cold and harsh voice of Maryse as she lectured the two- most likely on the subject he'd just been briefed on.

The house felt empty without Max but he strayed away from those thoughts but a worse vein of exploration opened itself.

What would it be like, to live with Clary? Even like this, she was still Clary at heart. This, he could live with.

But to never see her alive again, never see her reaction to his words and his kisses and touches- to see her face closed in the sombre rest of the dead, cremated and placed among her forebears. To never touch her porcelain skin again, even in friendly touch.

That would be true hell and Jace swore, by all the Angels and whatever lay out there- he would make sure she got through this.

She was stirring again in his arms, eyes blinking furiously as they adjusted to the light and she forced herself up, eyes searching and seeking the one face she didn't want to see. And all she found was him and a sense of relief filled her.

But it wasn't a real feeling.

There was a film between her inner self and outer emotions now, flimsy and fragile as it was- it was there. She was cold inside, like she'd been hollowed out with fire and left to burn out. And all she wanted was feeling, anything and everything she could get.

Even pain.

The food was good though, warm and filling and it was almost back to normal again, except for the stickiness on her mind and the dirt beneath her skin, the filth she wanted to scrub away until there was nothing left but clean white bone.

Jace watched as she ate, slow and measured but her eyes were far away, a pained expression on her face that he observed, knowing it was unlikely she would tell him what was wrong. His thoughts were a million miles away and he blinked as he saw her trying to attract his attention. "Can I go have a shower? I feel… gross, to be honest."

Jace thought it through, weighing up the risk of infection via the wet sutures or her own self image right then. The iratze will burn away the infection if need be and he couldn't say no to her- not now, probably never.

"Sure. Be careful with your sutures- don't wash them roughly. Use the bathroom in my room- there are spare towels and I'll lay out some spare clothes for you."

Green eyes smile and she nods, heading upstairs and he hears the soft thud of the bathroom door opening, before the soft susurration of the shower began. With a heavy heart, he collected their dishes and entered the kitchen, washing them quickly in the sink and placing the plates on the drying rack.

Alec and Isabelle had grown quiet once he'd entered- Alec especially, his expression guilty and a little fearful.

As he should be.

"What," Jace has never heard his own voice so cold before."Was the point of that statement? Did you really think that announcing that to the room was going to help her at all? If it was just a few strange scratches- yeah, it would have been fine. But she was whipped, with a demon metal ended whip and burned and bruised beyond recognition! He defiled her, took forcefully from her what he wanted! There was no need to say what you said, Alexander Gideon Lightwood and if you ever say anything like it again- parabatai or not, I swear upon the Angel you will die by my hand."

Alec had grown pale and still, dark eyes wide and sad in his face. "Jace, please! I've been your friend for years and-"

Jace swiped a hand in front of him, cutting the air and the tension like a knife. "My friend or not- the girl I love is broken because of my actions and I can never take that back! My sister! The only one I have ever loved with a passion, the only one I can never have! I can never love her as my heart wishes to! I will have to stand by her entire life, with me loving her and she loving me- and that is that. So. Do not make this harder for her or me- to affect one… is to affect the other. I know you loved me."

Alec's head rocketed up, his gaze wide and petrified but Jace merely shook a hand. "I don't care. I never did. I know you still do love me- and I'm sorry that I will never be yours. As much as it tears my soul- I will never love another as long as I live."

And he leaves then, a silent kitchen behind him and he goes to his room listening to the shower as it runs behind the closed door and sets out clothes for, ignoring the twinge in his mind at the thought of Clary wearing his clothes, like she was his.

But that's the way Sebastian had thought- and his quest had driven to madness and depravity. The thoughts are too heavy for him and he picks a book, loses himself in the world beyond but it's perhaps an hour later, when the shower is still running that he senses something is wrong. He knocks on the door, calls out to Clary but he hears nary a whisper back and the worry grows. It builds and builds until finally he knocks the door down and catches it before it hits the ground, making nary a sound.

The shower is still running and she is crouched underneath it, the water long ago run cold but he can see the evidence of pure hot water on her body, dark red patches of burning skin. She's muttering softly under her breath, a solemn mantra of 'I'm dirty' and 'I must get clean'. She's worn the back of her hands to blood, scrubbed 'clean' with a washer.

Jace reaches in and shuts off the water, seeing Clary flinch back in fright and she cowers agains the corner. But he waits gently, holding a towel out to her and when she allows him close to her, wraps her broken body in the large white towel, lifting her out of the shower basin and he carries her out of the bathroom, letting her sit on the bed, seemingly dwarfed by the white towel that shields her. With a soft nod from her, Jace looks away and holds the t-shirt out for her, letting her slip her arms into it and then she lays again on the bed, eyes empty of emotion and thought.

She curls up against him as he lays beside her, as she moves into the circle of his arms and she seems… satisfied. Nowhere near happy but she's softer around the edges, kind of weary and way too strong for her own good.

Jace just holds her like a brother holds a sister but his heart yearns, just as it always has.


	4. Divenire

Jace is still asleep when she startles out of sleep, feeling the soft prickle of eyes staring at her and her emerald gaze settles on a dark-haired figure in the doorway. Her eyes are blurry with sleep and she winces as she drags herself into a sitting position, gazing blearily at the figure in the doorway and blinking in shock when she see's Simon there. She'd forgotten that he was in the city- out of the Gard anyway.

He was watching her with dark eyes- it was still a shock to see those eyes free from behind the thick framed glasses he'd worn for so many years. He was so different- his posture had lost his trademark awkwardness and his very presence almost _demanded_ respect- and she often caught herself, thinking she knew him.

But she hardly knows anything about him anymore.

His eyes are following the curve of her shoulders, dark bruises trailing down the slope like dying flowers, purple and green and yellow in the morning light. And his face twists in something like regret and grief and rage. Simon has never been one for strong emotions- not visibly anyway. But these are so raw, so close to the surface that it's almost… terrifying to see that strength fade from him.

He sits on the edge the bed, his fingers gripping tightly to the sheets as though to anchor himself. And there are tears on his lashes, pooling into the corners of his eyes and she can see his shoulders shake, just fractionally. She wants to comfort him but her skin prickles at the thought of touch. She knows he will not hurt her- but there's a fire under her skin that burns at the touch and she will never allow herself to be consumed, never again.

And his hand is on her shoulder, just soft and gentle but it's like a branding iron or cherry-white metal in her bones and she cannot contain the shudder that runs through her. He flinches back, hand wavering in the air and she catches it before he can pull away, winding her fingers through his and ignores the cold settled within his very bones.

We sit there, silent and waiting for _something_ and neither of us know what. It's cold in the air and my stitches ache and my heart is cold and icy and dead.

"Clary…"

His voice breaks the silence- no, it _shatters_ it and she hadn't expected it and she watches him as he begins to talk. "I've known you for years- I know you. I've loved you for years and I always will, you're my best friend and I won't give up on you now. I know you're holding up. I know you're staying strong because you're trying not to hurt anyone. But… I-I'm here. You've always told me the dark stuff- can you trust me just one more time?"

And before she even knows it, she's crying and her eyes don't seem to be able to leave his gaze, the understanding there shattering whatever has held her back.

"I'm broken, Simon. I'm not worth anything anymore, not worth the pain you're all feeling from my pain, my stupid naive trust…I brought this down on myself and I'm so afraid Simon… Because I can't shake the memories. Of dark eyes and possessive hands that reached and tore and defiled everything they touch. And he _hurt_ me Simon. It was beyond anything I've ever known and I can't remember it. I can feel it there, tiny little parts that come back but I'm going to go insane. And I hate myself. Because part of me enjoyed it! A sick little twisted part of me found pleasure in what he did to me and I can't ever take that back. And Jace…"

She paused here, looking down at where her brother lay sleeping and ran a hand down his face as gently and softly as I could. "He's so beautiful and I love him, Simon. I love him so much it hurts, because I fell in love with the wrong person and he doesn't deserve to have to watch me go through this! I just… I wish I was allowed to love him… But I'm a depraved girl. What kind of girl loves her brother like this?" Her voice breaks then, shattered and young and Simon can still see the eyes of the little girl he'd befriended so long ago. But he folds her into his arms, hugging her tightly but gently, avoiding the worst of the wounds and just holds her as she cries. And Simon meets the tortured gaze of Jace Wayland-Morgenstern and somewhere in those deep gold eyes, Simon knows that her words mean everything to him.

And Jace just nods back to him.

What else can he say, as his sister falls and breaks all over again- saying the words that she cannot say to him?

Simon just holds her as he always has and she cries into his chest for a long time, his eyes watching Jace's pained visage as he watches her. And Simon hated him for making her love him, after first for stealing her from him and later, by breaking her heart in a way that could never be fixed in this life time. But he sees something in that gaze, something that breaks and shatters- and Simon can't bring himself to hate Jace anymore. Because the girl he loves is the one thing that he will never be able to love.

Clary is asleep, her dark eyelashes like ashes across her cheeks and her expression is twisted, sad and dark. He nods to Jace, laying her down carefully and winces as she shifts painfully, whining softly in her sleep. And he passes her over to Jace- not just physically. Simon cannot help her now- but Jace can and no matter their relations, blood or water- if fixes her… Simon will live with it.

Clary is alone when she comes to, and it's the first time she's been truly alone since Jace found her. And she winds her arms around herself, seeking comfort but there isn't any to be found within the confines of her static embrace. And she's been strong. All that's happened, every moment that passed in his hands is stitched into her mind, slowly pulling her apart. She's kept it hidden but she's alone now and it's like being plunged into water, cold and smooth.

It's a descent into the darkness of her own mind, a smooth slope that's impossible to climb, no matter how much she struggles to do just that. She's sinking under the weight of everything around her, and there are burning handprints on her body. They fester and bubble underneath her skin and she cannot stop it, cannot stop the filth that grows underneath her skin and she doesn't want to touch anyone. Because Sebastian's touch is like a virus, crawling under her skin and she doesn't want to infect anyone.

She can still feel Sebastian on her skin, still feel the terror of hands on her skin and in her- and it's not a sensation that will leave soon.

But she's alone and there's very little to distract her from her own pain- but there's a pencil on the desk and a small sketchbook, unopened and verily unused. She hobbles with a wince over to the desk, grabbing both and seeing with satisfaction that the pencil has a small eraser attached to the end.

She sets the pencil to the paper and her mind is suddenly ablaze with images, whirling in front of her eyes and she blinks, the runic markings glowing in her mind and she commits them to memory, sketching each on the page in front of her.

There are three runes, sketched over and over and over again- and their meanings flash in front of her mind's eye.

The first is a simple circular rune, a dark and twisting circle that curves in on itself and it finishes in the elaborate fashion that all angelic runes possess. _Faith._

The second is similar to the fearless rune she'd created before they left for Idris, before all of this had played out. But the curves are mirrored, crescent moons attached to the points. _Block._

The last is a squarish design, more like a kite perhaps and wing-like curves spread from the sides, resembling some alien bird. _Freed._

She isn't quite sure what the runes are for- they aren't quite as clear as the others are in their usage. She puzzles over them with a single minded intensity and she doesn't notice the clock turning and the shadows lengthen as the sun shines through the large window behind the bed. It's easily noon, perhaps early afternoon by now and she blinks as she glances at the wall clock, it's hands reading the as 12:43pm. It's late and she wonders where everyone is- she hasn't seen anyone since she woke up and Jace is nowhere to be found.

Oh, she knows where he would be of course. Somewhere with plants- as many as he could find, the smells of the native plants were his truest memory of Idris and he loved it, the familiarity he found in their embrace. But she had no idea where she would find him here- or how she would get there. She could walk, if barely and the town was ruins in some places- and perhaps he was on the green hill of the Gard, where the susurrus of the trees was like the gentle swish of the Greenhouse back at the Institute.

She dresses, and it's painful trying to move her body- but it's a need, to find him. She feels on edge without him but she walks one eggshells when she is with him- there's no in between anymore. She makes it out of the house before anyone can find she is missing, shutting the door behind her and stepping out into the city for the first time since she locked herself in the attic. The cobbled streets are strewn shadowhunter blood and black demon ichor is everywhere. It was a harsh view but she ignores it.

She has a higher plan here and she wants to find him. She needs to find him, to find him and love him in the short time she has left. Because she wants to see him for the last time and she grips the stele in her pocket as tightly as she can, needing its strength.


	5. Bend and Shatter

**Bend and Shatter**

What does it take for Clary to shatter?

Jonathan had always been cruel.

His thoughts were as dark as his charcoal eyes, dark from birth and any chance he had to regain his humanity was long-gone. His father was Valentine Morgenstern and there was little chance of any child of Valentine having even a shred of mercy.

So Jonathan grew up twisted and cruel, the type of child who would set fire to the wings of butterflies and watched as the died in a fiery blaze, trying to fly away from the pain on wings aflame. He strung animals up, crucified and tortured creatures until he knew everything there was to know about them.

His evil was more than skin deep, embedded deep in his bones and his soul and he must have seen it coming.

He learned the ways that one could bend and snap another. A few mind games here, a little fear manipulation here- and their spines would crumble like a branch into ashes.

But he's always sought the perfect prize.

Hair like that dying butterfly, set ablaze and flying with movement- keen and desperate. That skin so fair and those eyes so wide, like viridian nightshade stamped with hatred. She hated him so- with fiery loathing that set fire to him in ways he had never felt before. And he feared her but he loved her.

Because she terrified the darkness, as though her flame could drive that ancient darkness scampering into the night and that evil would not let her do that.

So he had broken her, as completely as he could.

He had enjoyed it, that sick fantasy come to life and he remembered the cruel moment when her eyes opened- and all he saw was the glossy sheen of resignation in her eyes.

She had been whipped and beaten, her scars laced with demons blood and so tainted that each would scar forever. And she would always feel him on her skin, like a virus or some malignant grit upon her skin- and she would never been rid of him. And he felt… oh, so territorial over her and his heart swelled with a sick pride. Because that man- who had once stolen his name, that man would never have her because how could his little sister let anyone near now?

When friendly touch would drive splinters under her skin- as he had done.

When gentle touch would send lashes of phantom pain like whip weals- just as he had shown here.

When the softness of lips touched upon hers- all she would feel were the sharp teeth of her brother upon her flesh.

And, if miracles should happen and she let someone in enough to trust them with it- how could she ever make love?

She'd been used and torn apart and bloody and bruised. Taken in the most heinous ways he knew- and then some, things even his evil had shrunk back from but still he had done it. She would never seek comfort in another soul- not while she lived apart from him.

And one day, she would go crazy, trapped in a world where she only saw hurt in a sea of love. She would crave that terror and anger and desperation- that only he could give her.

And she would seek him out, insane with the want to be able to feel, that terror and pain that was all she had left.

And then…

Then he, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, will have won.


End file.
